The Sister Games
by Eloquent Duchess
Summary: It is the 74th Annual Hunger Games, and Katniss, at 19 years old, has managed to make it without her name being pulled. At the Reaping, though, her sister Prim is not so lucky, and she along with Peeta Mellark's brother are chosen to be the Tributes from District 12. Katniss, being too old to volunteer, will have to watch as her sister fights to the death.


"_PRIM? PRIM? Where are you? Prim!"_

_I am crawling on my hands and knees through dense fog. All I hear is screams, from Prim, my mother, father, everyone I've ever loved. They are crying and screaming, but I can't see anything. I can't breathe, can't feel anything. I don't even know if I'm crawling or staying in one spot. I can't help them and it is killing me._

"_Help me!" I cry out to anyone that can hear me in this land of fog. No one comes to save me and I collapse on the ground, sobbing amidst the sounds of everyone I love being tortured. _I _am being tortured along with them, because I can't stand to see them suffer. Gale. Mom. Dad_

_But Prim's voice is the loudest. "Katniss help me!" she screams, pleading me to help her. I try to stand up but the floor gives way and I am falling through the fog. The screams get louder as I fall deeper into this pit of fog, until finally –_

"PRIM!" I bolt straight up in bed, drenched in sweat. It's a couple hours before dawn and still pitch-black in our little house, but I look to the person on my left and can see the small silhouette of my little sister, Prim. Her tiny body is rising and falling slowly, so I know she is still asleep. I'm glad I haven't woken her up with my screams; today, she'll need all of the peace she can get.

It's Reaping Day, and she is now eligible to be chosen as a Victor. I remember my first Reaping, 7 years ago. I somehow managed to make it without getting my name picked. For 6 years, I was herded into the Square and held my breath while Effie Trinket pulled the names out of the bowls. For 6 years, my name wasn't chosen. I'm 19 and free from ever being picked to partake in the Hunger Games.

My sister has six more years of torture, of waiting to see if it is her time to die. And I have 6 years of worrying that my sister will be taken away from me.

And of course, there is nothing that I can do about it. If she is chosen, that is that. I can't say or do anything to help her or stop them. Prim will die and I will have to live with that for the rest of my life.

I spend a few moments looking at my beautiful sister's face. Her big blue eyes, beautiful blonde hair, and light skin look nothing like mine. My dark eyes, olive skin and dark brown hair come from my father, whereas she is a clone of my mother. But I love her more than anything in the entire world. I love her more than I love myself.

Which is why today will be so hard for me. I will not breathe until Trinket calls someone else's name and I get another year with my Prim before the process repeats itself.

I kiss her forehead and climb gingerly over her body. Our house is very small, so small that Prim and I must share a bed. But I like it, and so does Prim. Nights aren't so cold and lonely when you have someone sleeping next to you.

Even though it will be awhile before dawn breaks, I quickly dress in a warm shirt and comfortable pair of pants, then put on a leather jacket that belonged to my father and finally my well-worn boots. I have one thing that I must do before the Reaping: hunt.

Hunting has been illegal in District 12 my whole life, but that never stopped my father or me from doing it. My family and several other families depend on my game, and if I don't go, they don't eat.

As I walk down the stairs and through the living room, I pause for a second to listen at my mother's door. There is no noise coming from her room, but I assume she's awake. No one sleeps long on Reaping days.

Safe under the cover of darkness, I leave my house and jog down the dirt road towards the end of town. We live on the edge of the District, so we aren't very far from the Restricted Area, which is anything outside of the fence. Normally, I would be passing men leaving their houses to go to the mines, but no one works on Reaping Day.

When I finally get to the fence, I take a second to listen for a hum, which would mean that the fence is on and I would be electrocuted if I touch it. As usual, the fence is turned off, so I quickly climb in between the wire and run into the forest.

Up until exactly one year ago, I would hunt with my best friend, Gale Hawthorne. He was the one person besides Prim that I could open my heart to. After my father died, Gale was the only person that I wanted to talk to. I may have even loved him. That all changed last year when his name was pulled at the Reaping and he died. It broke my heart, and I haven't really recovered.

I push the thought of Gale out of my mind – I don't want to think about him, especially today. Instead, I focus on hunting. After grabbing my bow and arrow out of its hiding spot in a nook in a tree, I find my hunting path and begin. My spirits lift a bit after catching two squirrels and a rabbit, and I spend the rest of the morning keeping my occupied with catching game.

On my way back into town, my game bag filled with various animals, I pause at the Hawthorne house. Gale's mother has two siblings of age for the Reaping whose names could possibly be called again. She likes my squirrels, so I leave one in a bag on the porch for her, knock on the door, and quickly walk away before she answers. I don't know if I can talk to her today. Too many memories.

And so I go down the dirt streets, casually stopping by and leaving game at houses that I know need it. Finally, I stop off at the Hob, the only place in District 12 that you can buy banned goods, like liquor and poached meat. Someone will always buy what I have, so I quickly sell it and hurry home. My sister must be a wreck, and I'm the only one that can calm her down.

Sure enough, when I walk in the house, I can hear Prim crying upstairs. I run up the stairs and find her lying on the bed. I pull her up and give her a hug.

"It's going to be fine, Prim. You'll be fine," I say soothingly.

Prim has her head buried in my shoulder and murmurs, "But what if it's me?"

I laugh and reply, "Are you crazy? There are kids with their names put in dozens of times. Your name is only in once. You'll be okay."

"You promise?"

I lean down and whisper into her ear, "I promise." With those words, she lifts her head up and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. We both smile as I wipe a tear from her eye.

I can't lose this girl. I don't know what I would do if they take her away from me.

Sometime later, Prim is wearing her prettiest dress with her hair in two delicate braids. Since I am an adult now, I don't have to get dressed up, so I change out of my leather jacket in favor of a light cotton one.

As I am putting the finishing touches on Prim's braids, my mother calls us downstairs. It's the first time I've heard a word from her all morning. We walk down the stairs and find out mother standing in the kitchen, looking very pale and tired. I doubt she slept a minute all night.

"It's time to go," she says quietly. Prim runs to her and gives her a big hug around her waist, which my mother returns, bending down to embrace her daughter for what could be the last time. After several moments, she stands up and holds out her hand for Prim to take. But Prim walks back to me and grabs mine instead. We all walk out of the house and join the group of people who are heading towards town.

As we get close and closer to town, more people fill the streets. Finally, we are in the Square, which has been transformed into a small arena, complete with a stage and a large viewing screen. The children are being herded into pens in relation to their age. This is the first year that I will be standing in the back with the adults.

The minute we enter the Square, Prim starts panicking. She stops moving and begins breathing very quickly. My mother, who is behind us, kneels at Prim's side and whispers, "It will be okay, Prim. You'll be safe."

I turn around and cup her face in my hands. "I'll see you in a little bit, okay?"

She nods and walks over to the line of children waiting to be identified and catalogued by Peacekeepers. My mother and I follow other adults to another area, where most of the people have the same worried expression that my mother is wearing. All of them could potentially lose a child today.

There is no hope for whoever is picked. No one from District 12 ever makes it out alive.

Something pokes my arm, and I look at the person to my right. It's Peeta Mellark, a boy from town who works in the bakery. We started talking after last year's Games – I think Peeta saw how lonely I was at school. When I was 12, after my dad died, he did something that I'll never forget, something that saved my life. And up until last year, I didn't want to talk to him again. I was embarrassed and ashamed by what he did for me. But after I lost Gale, he wouldn't leave me alone. After awhile, he kind of grew on me. Now that we're done with school, I don't see him as often, but sometimes I stop by the bakery and he gives me something to take home to Prim.

His brother is there as well, and his name could be called. I look at his worried face and give him a very small smile of encouragement. His returns the smile and looks back into the crowd of children, searching for his brother I'm sure. I do the same, looking for Prim in the endless sea of people.

All of the chatter around me stops when Effie Trinket walks onto the stage in her disgustingly bright green outfit, complete with a matching wig. She's been here the past few years to announce the Tributes from District 12. It can't be a pleasant job but she always does it with enthusiasm.

"Welcome, everyone! Today, we pick one boy and one girl who will be fortunate enough to compete in the 74th Annual Hunger Games! But before we select those lucky two, we have a very special film from the Capitol."

Then we are all forced to watch a video from the Capitol, which describes our history – how Panem rose from the ashes of a terrible war, and how the Hunger Games are a reminder of just how powerful the Capitol is and how we are at their mercy. It's been the same video ever since I could remember. I didn't watch this year; I was too busy looking for Prim.

Suddenly it was over and Effie Trinket was back at the microphone. My hands started shaking and my chest tightens. They always announce the girls first.

"And now, I will pick our girl Tribute!" Effie states. She walks over to a large bowl filled with little slips of paper. My mother, standing to my left, grabs my hand and squeezes it tight.

She pulls her hand out with a piece of paper, holding it out like it's a prize. "Alright, the girl Tribute is …"

A pause, then -

"PRIMROSE EVERDEEN."

It's as if my dream has come to life. Everyone around me turns around and stares at my mother and me. In the distance, I can see the crowds parting and little Prim walking to the stage. Even from this far away, I can see her shaking as she moves closer and closer to her imminent death. And there's nothing that I can do to stop it.

But I have to do something. I can't just let her go. Maybe they can make an exception and take me instead? I can't let her go, she'll die. She's just so little-

"No, Katniss," Peeta whispers next to me. His hand is wrapped around my arm and he is holding me in place. I must have started walking and didn't even notice. So I step back next to Peeta, and he lets go of my arm.

Prim has reached the stage, and Effie has moved her to a place where everyone can see her. And she looks so scared. She must know that she is going to die.

"Let's give a big round of applause for our girl Tribute from District 12, Primrose Everdeen," Trinket exclaims while clapping loudly. A few other people in the crowd clap with her, but mostly everyone stays still. No one likes to see a 12-year-old Tribute.

I look around at the Peacekeepers surrounding the crowd. Do they realize what they have done to me? How they have taken someone I care about so deeply away from me yet again?

Trinket waits for the few people clapping to stop, then states, "Now we shall pick the boy Tribute."

I am barely paying attention as she walks over to the other bowl and picks out a name. All I can do is stare at Prim. Sweet, lovely Prim. She had such wonderful potential. She was going to be something great.

"For out boy Tribute, we have … ROLLIN MELLARK!"

I gasp and look at the boy next to me, who now shares my fate. His face has fallen and I think I see tears in his eyes. He must be thinking what I am thinking – his little brother, barely fourteen, will be dead in a few weeks.

Prim feels dead to me already.

Peeta grabs my hand, which startles me. I almost shake it free, but to be honest, it's keeping me calm and I know that he needs it, so I keep my hand in his.

My mother holds my left hand, and Peeta holds my right. We stand there in what looks like a united force, but in reality, we are crumpling inside. No one from District 12 ever comes out alive.

Trinket forces Prim and Rollin to shake hands, then exclaims into the microphone, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"


End file.
